Shopping with Poland
by JustAGirlWithAPen
Summary: What happens when Poland, like, decides to take Lithuania shopping? Fluff and yaoi, duh! First person Poland, crossdressing, Canadians, and other fun stuff. :   R&R.


I do not own Hetalia; I merely borrow its wonderful fluffy characters!

Author's Note: I've seen Poland's name spelled both ways, but I decided to go with Feliks for this story. Sorry for any OOC-ness, and lack of plot… I may continue this as another chapter or separate story!

Also, I took Libery with nicknames. I tried to use human names as much as possible in here, because I didn't want weird glances as I was writing this in 3rd block, because, everyone knows that countries aren't referred to as "he" and certainly don't wear dresses. Thank you, pessimist inside my head. So, Feliks(or Feli)=Poland, Toris=Lithuania and Mattie=Canada!

This is a present for spygirl48, who relentlessly pressured me to finish this until now . Go ahead girl, enjoy your squee.

T for suggestiveness! And possible language later.

**Shopping with Poland**

"Toris, look at this one!" My best friend shouted, flapping his tiny hands like some kind of cheerleader on acid. Muffling a sigh, I walked over to where he stood, noting our reflections melting together on the slick, cream-colored tile floor. Department stores were so not my style, but they were defiantly Felixes'.

"It _so _screams German sparkle party, doncha think? That would be, like, sooo fab to wear to the next conference gala," he gushed. I shook my head, smiling. That was just so typically _Feliks_. The familiarity of his useless but entertaining prattle made me relax. It was so nice to get out of Mr. Ivan's house every now and then, and not have to worry about what would happen to Feliks. Things were settling down between them, and I can't really ask for anything more.

"You should try this one on, Toris! You'd look good in blue! I'm not crazy about the Cinderella cut, but it would really minimize your waist," he continued, grabbing a hangar with a ridiculous sparkly ball gown on it. He grabbed one side of the skirt and proceeded to waltz about the formal wear section, singing a high-spirited Polish song. "Come on, Tori, try it on and dance with me!"

"You forget I don't wear dresses," I say, removing the glittery blue thing from my friend's hands and stepping into his dance. "Dresses are for girls! What would Germany say? And Mr. Ivan, oh, I don't even want to think about what he'd do if he saw me step into that thing _willingly_." Feliks didn't seem to care; his smile did not falter.

"But it would be so funny! You'd be so cute!" he continued, now for just arguments' sake. I shook my head and continued dancing around the store, like I was freaking Cinderella at her first ball. "Alright, alright, I suppose I'll wear it. I do have good legs, you know!"

"I know." Thank goodness for the elevator music playing in the store- unlike my Polish friend, I needed something to dance to, otherwise my steps would have been arrhythmic and clumsy, and he never would have let me live it down.

"You know, I don't mind dancing with you," my little fab friend continued, twirling. "In fact, I wwas thinking about wearing a dress myself before we even came into the store." This I already knew. Poland was so easy to read. I liked the familiarity of his mood swings, the color he brought to my life. I don't know what I'd do without him. I smiled.

"And I suppose I would escort you?"

"Only if you rent a decent tux."

"For your information, I own a tux," I lied. It wasn't entirely true; I had found an old (defiantly vintage, possibly antique) three-piece suit in one of Ivan's many wardrobes in one of his many houses. He never wore anything but that horrid white suit and the giant Red Army coat, so he wouldn't miss it. Besides that, it was at least five sizes too small for him, although it fit my lean frame. I worried that he would be upset if he saw me wearing it. The previous owner must have been long dead, because I had never seen anyone else that size-save Estonia-wandering the halls of the Stalingrad place. Hopefully it wouldn't dredge up any suppressed memories from Ivan's past. You didn't want to be around an emotional Ivan.

"So, how much is the one you're looking at?" I asked, turning the lazy waltz into a half-embrace. He held it out, draping it on another clothes rack.

"I don't know," he laughed, flicking his wrist in a, like, totally manly way. "The label is in American."

"You're in CANADA!" A third party shouted. We both turned to face one angry dishwater blonde. He stomped over to where we were standing, fists clenched. "And we speak ENGLISH here!"

"Oh, hey America, we thought you were back at your house with Prussia and Denmark…" I exclaimed, trailing off. There was something odd about America. For starters, he seemed about two inches shorter. And a lot quieter; his yell was soft and whispery. His hair seemed longer, and he was wearing a loose hockey jersey, when normally Alfred was a fitted button-up type of guy.

"Alfie, what's wrong with your voice?" Feliks added, making the newcomer blush madly.

"I'm CANADA!" he whisper shouted. They're really no other way to describe how he talked. I stiffened, afraid our apparent host country was going to call border control on us. Felix, however, was all over it. Literally.

"Mattie! Like, gosh, you've changed! I haven't, like, seen you since you were a little kid on France's knee! _Comment allez-vous_? He gushed, one arm draped over the little Canadian's slim shoulders.

Blushing a deeper shade of red, a somewhat mollified "Mattie" replied, "_Bien, merci._"

"Good, good. Hey, since we're totally in your country, do you think you could help us? I'm, like, not knowing the prices of things," my best friend continued. _Thank God, _I thought, _that Feliks knows EVERYONE._ Mattie smiled a bit, stepping out from under Feliks' arm politely.

"Sure, I guess, I'm sure Kuma won't mind, he had plenty of water in the car…" the nation trailed off, wandering over to the rack we had been looking at earlier. "This one's about… five hundred Litas," he added helpfully, glancing over his shoulder at me. I stifled a groan; why did _I _always foot the bill when Feliks went shopping? What would Eduard say when looked at my credit card bill? Yes, Estonia did my bills for me. I'm not a math person, okay?

Poland was going through dressed full-steam now, occasionally flinging comments like "totally Prom Queen ", or "too strappy", or "I'm _so_ not an autumn" back over his shoulder at the poor timid Canadian. It was official; the fluffy part of shopping was over, and now it was Business Time.

"Hey, Feli, try to look for something more… vintage," I called. Poland wrinkled his nose -he was a more sleek-and-modern type- before I added "…so we can match". Eventually, Mattie dragged us out of the department store, exclaiming "I have just what you need!" He pulled a giddy Feliks along by the wrist while I ran-walked awkwardly behind. _I sure hope this kid has good taste like his father… _

In the end, it was perfect. This cure little shop on the other side of the mall we were at, one of the ones people glanced at but never went into, contained the best fit for Feli. It was an off-black open-collar dress; it had vintage touches here and there, and was knee-length but not dowager-like. It had two tiny black straps, and short sleeves that left his shoulders bared. The neckline was zig-zagged and had little pearls and embellishments. Feliks _would _look amazing in it. For a transvestite. It was cut in a style that didn't draw attention to my favorite Pole's lack of curves, but rather made his lean frame very fashionable. Had I ever doubted my best friend would show up to an event un-glamorously? After centuries of knowing the little sparklepuff, you'd think I'd have learned. Maybe my time in Russia had chipped away at my sanity after all!

"Tori, come, like help me with this zipper!" Feliks shouted across the store. I smirked, leaving my seat next to Canada on the "husband couch" conveniently placed outside the dressing rooms, and went to find him. He was locked in dressing room number seven. _My lucky day. _All of a sudden, a hand shot out of the door and pulled me inside, once again locking the door. The dress was half off his shoulder, and wrinkled quite adorably around his hips where he'd tried to pull it up-and-over.

"Somebody is needing a little help," I said, stepping closer. As smoothly as I could manage, I slipped my arms around his back and undid the zipper, letting the dress fall away. To my utter surprise, Poland wasn't wearing anything under. He held up a pair of boxer shorts, ironically with the Union Jack printed on them, and managed to shimmy them up his toned legs- but not before I got an eyeful of his upper _upper _thighs. I wasn't sure how to react, so I just stood in a corner and blushed like Germany on a blind date. _And you thought you were going to be all Rico Suave!_

Naturally Poland had all the cards in his hand. That's why he was my seme. I don't know where people got the misconception that _he _was _my _uke, but I did nothing to correct them. I was content to sit in the corner and wait, but Poland had other plans. Still wearing only his Union Jack underwear, he pressed me against the wall.

"You're so cute when you're nervous!" He giggled, biting my lower lip. I kissed him back, not wuite knowing how to respond. For once, I decided to not worry that we were in a store, and there was probably someone wondering _what the heck is going on in the stall next to me,_ and that I was terribly rusty. I would just sit back and enjoy my moment with Feliks….

"Oh HAELLLL NAW!" The door was wide open now, having been loudly kicked down by a large, fierce looking African-American woman. "Y'all NASTY queers did NOT just fornicate in MY dressin' room! I'll call the COPS on y'all!" She sounded like she was from America's glasses…whatever he called them. But more importantly, me and Feliks were making out in a dressing room, one of us almost naked. This wouldn't be good for international relations.

"I'll take this dress please," Poland said meekly, handing the woman the cause of his state of undress. Pulling his clothes back on in a rapid twelve seconds-I'd never seen him get ready in less than twenty minutes-he was out the door, tugging me behind. "Mattie, buy the dress for us! Liet'll pay you back, but we have to run!" he called out, leaving a confused Mattie to deal with the angry shop owner. Just like that, we were running back to my car.

"The is the _last _time I'm going shopping with you!" I exclaimed, breathless and embarrassed. My counterpart seemed to be the opposite; excitement and drama seemed to pump him up.

"No it's not," he countered, smiling and sure of himself. As flustered as I was, I knew he was right. Without him, my life would be dull and colorless, like an eternal winter. I would always be game for shopping with Poland.


End file.
